


Portal Hypertension

by nwspaprtaxis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cramps, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pain, Pre-Series, Protective Dean Winchester, Sick Sam Winchester, Stomach Ache, ohsamtripleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 10:10:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nwspaprtaxis/pseuds/nwspaprtaxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's been feeling off, wrong, for days, weeks... And maybe it's time to tell his big brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Portal Hypertension

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winchesterpooja](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=winchesterpooja).



> **_A/N:_** There's a [Triple Play Challenge](http://ohsam.livejournal.com/659989.html) on Livejournal's **ohsam** comm. In which the goal is to have both art and fic for a three-part prompt. 
> 
> My fill is for **winchesterpooja** 's [prompt](http://ohsam.livejournal.com/659989.html?thread=3757845#t3757845):
> 
>   1. A house/hospital
>   2. 21-year-old Dean
>   3. Sam has been behaving weird lately. He seems confused sometimes. He and John are fighting more than usual. And despite all that exercise, is Sam slowly developing a belly? And then John goes away on a hunt and Sam gets really sick.
> 

> 
> Special thanks to **quickreaver** not only for the glance-through and catching stupid mistakes because I wrote this on the fly, but also for being such a spectacular mod and host. Also, **winchesterpooja** , thank you so much for the kindness and patience in helping me work out the medical details! I hope this little thing makes your day all bright and shiny!
> 
>  ** _Disclaimer:_** Do not own. Am not making a profit. Just simply having fun with their psyches and returning them slightly more battered to Kripke and Co. and all that Yada Yada.

Sam winces as he takes stock of his reflection mirrored back at him. He turns to the side, surveys himself in the full-length mirror. _Puberty sucks_ , he thinks as he palms his stomach. He’s definitely developing a belly. Which is just weird considering how much Dad’s been making them run lately. He sucks it in and manages to fasten the button and zipper of his jeans. But only just, and the waistband digs uncomfortably into his flesh. He pulls his too-baggy sweatshirt over the tiny pooch and resolves to buy a slightly larger pair of jeans the first chance he gets. Maybe he’ll even cut last-period PE and soccer practice to go up to the Sears at the mall.

**::: ::: :::**

It doesn’t go away. If anything, the swelling is getting worse, more prominent. But it’s still not all that noticeable, not if you don’t know where to look — at least Dad and Dean haven’t commented on it yet and the big handed-down shirts from Dean hide the worst of it. He rubs his abdomen unhappily, trying to alleviate the dull gnawing.

Dean shouts at him to get his ass out of the bathroom and Sam finds his brother in the motel-room-of-the-week’s kitchenette, loading up plates with spaghetti and meatballs. The scent of the food instantly kills what little appetite he’d had as his stomach contracts with remembered pain. He slides tentatively into his chair, dreading a repeat of the uncomfortable hours he’d spent trying not to draw up his legs after lunch. Dean sets a plate of steaming, sauce-covered pasta before him and Sam’s almost positive the dull pain in his belly intensifies from anticipation alone.

“I’m not hungry,” he tells Dean, his voice coming out soft and uncertain.

Dean fixes him with a hard look and wordlessly scrapes the sauce off Sam’s spaghetti onto his own. Sam lets his older brother bully him into taking a few bites.

**::: ::: :::**

Later, he’s lying awake on his bed, unable to sleep because his midsection aches just enough to stop him from relaxing completely. It’s not intense but more of a generalized, indefinable discomfort that feels full and throbbing; he can’t quite articulate and hasn’t been able to for days. He knows he probably should get some homework done but he can’t seem to summon the energy to get up and take out his books. Rolling to his side, wincing and palming his stomach — it feels all wrong — he reaches out with one hand, fumbles his bedside table for _Hamlet_. There’s a test covering the first half in first-period Advanced Placement English and he’s nowhere near ready for it. Opening the book to Act Two, he makes himself focus on the page, but he’s barely read a few lines into the play when the words blur before him and it’s the end of the page before he realizes he has no idea what he just read. Closing the paperback, he twists to nudge it back onto the table, giving it up as a lost cause, when he feels a gripping pain high in his abdomen directly beneath his ribcage and there’s the taste of something hot and acidic in the back of his throat. He swallows it down and, ever so carefully, slowly pushes himself upright until he’s sitting on the edge of the mattress. His belly feels bloated and taut and he palms the puffiness, steeling himself for the act of standing and walking to the bathroom, hoping to god there’s still some Prilosec OTC in the medkit.

Sam grimaces as he stands, hand gripping the foot of the bed for support, breathing through the throb.

He walks slower than usual, trying not to upset the tenuous balance his body seems to have settled into. By the time he gets to the living room, he has to sag against a wall, feeling weirdly fatigued and he realizes he’s forgotten why he’s even out here in the first place. He sees Dean conked out on the couch, a shiny trail of drool snaking from the corner of his mouth. The TV is on, blaring loudly and from the sounds coming from it, Sam guesses that Dean was watching WWE.

“Dean?” He calls out tentatively, but it must’ve come out on this side of too-soft because Dean twitches, doesn’t rouse. “Dean?” he repeats, louder, a terrified edge to his voice he really doesn’t like, the burning low in his gut intensifying in a way that scares him. He hunches over the heated ache. Dean must’ve finally heard because suddenly his older brother is there, cupping his elbow, keeping him on his feet. 

“Sam?” Dean’s voice, alert and worried, reaches his ears. Sam opens his mouth to respond, to tell his brother that something is seriously wrong and maybe they should go to the hospital, when a fresh pain clenches hard around his middle. He sinks slowly to his knees, doubled up, a hot knife stabbing, twisting in his stomach. He opens his mouth to scream, to call out, anything, and pukes. Blood gushes out of his mouth. He stares at his palm, coated with thick blood, and blinks at it incomprehensibly. There’s another twisting cramp and he throws up again. He coughs, gags, and heaves. He feels Dean leave his side and the world tunnels black.

**::: ::: :::**

When he surfaces to awareness, everything is too sharp, white, and antiseptic. Hospital. He shifts, feels something pull, and pauses. _Stitches_. He must’ve made some kind of sound because the next thing he knows, Dean’s grinning in his face, deep bags of exhaustion under his eyes, hair stuck up messily on one side. Sam’s pretty sure he can even make out the faint pattern of the waffle-weave blanket on his cheek.

“Wha’ppened?” his voices comes out garbled and disjointed, like his mouth’s full of marbles.

“Your liver ruptured. Or rather, your vein did…” Dean trails off. “Anyway, you got staples.” 

Sam nods. It’s a little too much to process, so he lets his brother's words slide. He opens his mouth, tries to lick at his lips. His throat is so, so dry. Dean gets a clue, picks up a cup of water, and brings it close. Sam clamps his lips around the straw, gulps desperately. He’s barely taken a couple of swallows when Dean takes it away from him. Sam lets out an unhappy sound of protest.

“Sorry,” Dean whispers. “I don’t think you’re supposed to have too much right now.”

Sam turns his head to the side. He knows it’s not Dean’s fault. That he just had surgery and it’s par for the course. But. Still.

He turns back to his brother in time to see Dean press the button to the morphine pump and he lets the drugs drag him back under.


End file.
